What Doesn't Kill You
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: It's one of those rare times when Cal is sick. No plot really. Just messing around with the boys and trying to keep my muse limber.


Disclaimer: All characters, etc. are owned by Rob Thurman. I'm just having a bit of fun with Cal and Niko.

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**What Doesn't Kill You…**

**By: Vanessa Sgroi**

I groaned and gripped the sides of the porcelain toilet tighter as my stomach ejected yet another round of whatever the hell it was it didn't like. Being that I'm half-Auphe, half-human I tend not to get sick often, but when I do—watch out. This was definitely one of those "watch out" moments.

I figured my older brother, Niko, had to be somewhere close by, he usually is when I'm sick or hurt, but I refused to open my eyes more than a sliver and be blinded by the bathroom lights which had seemed to have taken on the brightness of the surface of the sun. I groaned, threw up again, and shivered against the 90-degree August heat and sticky humidity that currently permeated our small bathroom.

"I told you one of these days eating those hot dogs from Street Dogs Meat Wagon were going to catch up to you." The layer of big brother censure in Nik's voice was thick.

"It wasn't the foot-long chili cheese dog," I paused to heave again, "with extra onions." _But it might've been the Super Double Twist Texas Buffalo Burger with Jalapenos I had with it—it tasted a little funny._ I wisely kept that to myself. "I bet it was that 'Soy Surprise' you sprung on me."

"Right. Because that makes me sick so often. If it wasn't the hot dog, it was probably the Super Double Twist Texas Buffalo Burger with Jalapenos."

"How did you…" Grrr. My older brother knew me too well. I couldn't help it. In a fit of pique, I answered Nik with a raised middle finger. No doubt I'd pay for that eventually with an extra chore or extended training, but my head was pounding too much to care at the moment.

"Are you done?"

"Yes. No." My stomach twisted and cartwheeled once more but stayed in place. I eased backward and more or less plopped on my ass on the floor, completely wrung out. "Maybe."

"Come on." Niko flushed the toilet and handed me a wet washcloth. "You need to be in bed."

I swiped the wet cloth across my sweaty face and handed it back. "No, no. That's okay. I'll sleep right here." I wiggled and got comfortable. "See? It's perfect. I'm fine."

"I might consider it if I were the last person to clean this bathroom. But since that task last fell to you, I think not."

"Bite me." As comebacks go, it was lame. I was almost ashamed of my lack of wit. I blame it on overwhelming illness.

"Come on, little brother. Let's get you to bed."

Niko wrapped an arm around me and helped me to my feet. I may have growled at him at that point but I'm not sure 'cause everything was suddenly fuzzy and my ears were ringing.

I have to admit my bed felt heavenly. Not that it doesn't usually feel that way, it does. My enduring love of sleep assures it, but at the moment, stretching out under the blankets was practically a religious experience. I closed my eyes, sighed in contentment, and hoped my stomach was done rebelling.

"Cal?"

"Mmm?" I peeked through my lashes at Nik.

"I'm leaving you a bucket beside the bed just in case. There's a glass of water on the nightstand—try and drink it then get some sleep."

"'kay." Yeah, sleep was definitely calling my name.

The overhead lights went off, leaving the room in blissful semi-darkness. I drifted off to welcome oblivion.

I came to a couple of hours later, and it took me several moments to re-orient myself to my surroundings. I was hot but shivering, knew I must be running a fever. My head was still pounding, and there wasn't a part of my body that didn't ache. I moaned and rolled over then frowned as I heard an odd noise from somewhere in the apartment. Curious, I tumbled out of bed and stumbled my way down the hall to the bathroom where I was greeted by a startling sight. Niko was on his knees in front of the toilet, and he was puking for all he was worth.

I rubbed at my puffy, aching eyes with my palms. "Guess it wasn't the hot dog or the burger," I rasped, my throat raw from my own bout of earlier sickness. "Maybe it was that soy crap after all."

To my everlasting amazement, Niko, who rarely—if ever—allowed himself to be so crude, answered with the one-fingered salute of his own. I honestly think my jaw hit the floor. Hearing Niko's epic retching set my stomach back to its own churning. This could be bad. Very bad. I went back to my room and got my bucket.

As it turned out, it wasn't the hot dog, the burger, or the soy. In a rare occurrence, we were both struck down with a rather nasty strain of the flu. It was a week or more before we were both back on our feet. The only bright spot was that Goodfellow stayed far, far away for that entire length of time. I seriously doubt I could've dealt with the Puck and the flu bug at the same time. Mayhem may have resulted.

When we were recovered sufficiently, Niko punished both of us for our flippant use of flipping each other the bird. Three extra hours of Kendo followed by thoroughly cleaning the Street Dogs Meat Wagon. The owner, Mr. Ochterski, was ecstatic.

I, on the other hand, was not.

I never ate there again.

Nothing ever tasted the same.

_**Fin**_


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